


The Box

by ItsaVikingThing



Series: Korrasami Month 2018 [4]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F, Korrasami Month 2018, Prompt: Yasuko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsaVikingThing/pseuds/ItsaVikingThing
Summary: Bolin visits Asami with a box from the Sato estate. An accident has uncovered something Asami didn't know still existed: Yasuko Sato's sketchbook.





	The Box

Some days it's easy to put the memories away, to tuck them into a box and put them on a high shelf in the back of Asami's mind. Some days, life is so busy and so full that Asami doesn't miss the absence of those memories, the gaps she has to navigate around so carefully on other days. And then there are the days that she can't avoid them, that they ambush her, and Asami has to hold onto the edges of her mind as tightly as she can to keep herself from unravelling.

It's Bolin who turns Asami's day into one of the latter. Bolin and the box.

It's a day off, for Asami. That's not altogether rare, but rare enough that she has one when Korra does, too. Better yet, it's the beginning of summer, and the sun is out but not too hot. A day in the park beckons, a day among the fresh blooms and the shade of the trees, a day to enjoy the laughter of children, to sit and run her fingers through blades of grass, to sit and have Korra hold her and run her fingers through Asami's hair.

Korra is showering and Asami is packing their lunch into a hamper when Bolin rings the bell. He smiles almost sheepishly at Asami, not as exuberant as usual, but that gives Asami no cause for concern. Nor does the battered cardboard box in his hands, not at first.

"Asami! I, uh...do you have a few minutes?"

"I'll need to check my calendar," Asami says gravely. Bolin blinks, but his only response is to nod patiently. Asami smiles at him. "I'm kidding, Bolin. Come in!"

He follows her into the living room, where he sets the box down on the table and wrings his hands. "I, uh...so, uh..."

Asami touches his arm. "Hey. Is everything okay?"

Bolin bites his lip. He sighs. "There was an, uh, accident. At the estate. Some of my cousins were, um, exploring. And they, ah, got into a sealed room, and, um, then they got into a fight, and they broke this old cabinet, and..."

He goes to the table and opens the box. Reaching gingerly inside, he produces a leather bound notebook, which he places on the table. Next he takes out a photograph in a broken frame, and presents it to Asami. "This is your mom, right? I think this was all her stuff?"

Asami stares at the picture, at the woman with long black hair smirking back her. Memories break loose from their hiding places, running through Asami's mind, dragging old pain from the darkness and into the light. "No. No, that's not right. No, he...my father said he burned all of her journals."

Bolin bites his lip. He carefully, reverently lays the photo on the table. He carefully, gently pulls Asami into a hug. He clears his throat. "I didn't know what to do, but I thought you'd want to have these as soon as possible. I didn't mean to make you sad, so I'm sorry! But..."

Asami lets out a breath that isn't quite a sob, and wraps her arms around him. She doesn't say anything, knowing that she doesn't have to. 

Bolin understands.

When she's feeling steadier, she pats his back and he lets her go. He backs away, smiling uncertainly. "Hey, so...do you wanna hold Pabu for a while? That always makes me feel better, when I'm, y'know, thinking about...stuff."

At the mention of his name, Pabu pokes his head out of Bolin's pocket and squeaks inquisitively. Asami smiles. "No, that's okay. Thanks. I...just, I didn't think any of this stuff survived. My...he told me, he...he lied. Which shouldn't surprise me..."

Asami trails off, her eyes drawn to her mother's notebook. Without realising that she's moved, she finds herself beside the table. She picks up the journal, but she can't seem to figure out how to make her fingers loosen the clasp that keeps it closed.

"Do you...want me to go?" Bolin asks. 

When she looks up, Asami sees that he's cradling Pabu in his arms. She sighs and smiles. "No. No, please. Sit."

Asami gestures to a couch and waits for him to sit before she joins him, cradling her mother's journal to her chest. "I...Mako once told me a little, but...do you mind if I ask...?"

Her voice and her courage fail her, but Bolin understands. He smiles. "My mom was...well, her folks were from the Fire Nation. But...uh, well..." He looks down at Pabu, and gently scratches under the fire ferret's jaw with one thick finger. In a soft voice he says, "My dad was a construction worker, so sometimes his job took him out of town. And he was always busy. I...he was serious. I remember that. He'd listen to the stories I'd make up, when he was around, and wasn't too tired. He never laughed at them, but he always listened, all the way through.

"My mom...my mom was funny. She could make anyone laugh, even my dad. She..." Bolin tickles Pabu's stomach, making him chitter and squirm in Bolin's grasp. "I remember her better. I...miss her more. Even more."

Asami puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

After a few seconds of silence broken only by Pabu's contented squeaks, Bolin shakes his head and offers Asami a grin. "I know they'd be proud of us, me and Mako. Mako's a detective! And I'm...uh, I've enjoyed a varied and diverse career and I'm still young! And I'm going to marry Opal, because I love her. I think they'd have loved Opal, too, don't you?"

Asami smiles. "Of course they would. Opal is amazing. And very easy to love."

Bolin looks at her, his green eyes full of nothing but sincerity. "Your mom would be beyond proud of you. She'd be amazed, Asami. She'd be asking, 'How did my daughter become so incredible at everything? She's even engaged to the Avatar?!'" He coughs, his cheeks reddening. "She...probably didn't sound like that. Or _think_ like that, but...but you know what I mean."

It feels like Asami is being compressed, crushed down into too little space to contain everything that wants to spill out of her. She clutches the notebook to her chest, tries to find a thought to hold onto out of the tangle of them that are trying to choke her. She understands, in that moment, the inadequacy of words, but she tries to speak anyway. "So...so much of what I know about my mother is what he told me. And he _lied_..."

Bolin hesitates, then turns towards her. He holds out Pabu. "Swap?"

Asami blinks. Slowly, clumsily, she unfolds her arms. Bolin supports Pabu with one hand and gently grips the edge of the notebook. He doesn't pull, he waits patiently for Asami to let go, then puts Pabu into her arms and eases the notebook out of her lap. Asami stares down at Pabu, who flops onto his back in her arms. She strokes the fire ferret's fur, taking comfort in the simple, repetitive motions, in the softness of Pabu's fur, the warmth of his small body.

"This was your mother's." Bolin opens the clasp on the notebook, but he doesn't open it. "Want to see what's in it?"

Asami swallows. She nods.

Bolin opens the notebook to the first page, angling it so that they can both see it.

Asami gasps. "Spirits! Her old sketchbook! These...these are early designs for the first mass produced Satomobiles. This is from before they were married..."

* * *

"It appears to me that you are drawing a box. A box on wheels."

Hiroshi Sato is a man of vision, a man of purpose, a man of _genius_. He has a plan, a plan that could change the world--or at least, Republic City--and he's _this_ close to securing the funding he needs to make his plan a reality.

The assembly line. A whole new methodology in the construction of mechanical devices. And with it, a whole new type of engine. And with _that_ , a whole new type of motorised vehicle, one that will be available to _everyone_. Well, maybe not everyone, but it's not inconceivable that a decade or two down the line, even someone as poor as Hiroshi could afford their own motorised vehicle!

Hiroshi Sato is not even eighteen and he is on the brink of changing the world. So why is it his hands are shaking and his palms are sweating because of the girl sitting beside him at Uncle Fong's Excellent Diner?

Is it her long, glossy black hair? The intelligence and curiosity in her jade green eyes? The lilt in her voice? The way she rests her chin on her ink-stained fist and studies him frankly, without a hint of embarrassment? Perhaps it's the way her cheap, perfectly unremarkable grey skirt, white blouse, and grey jacket become remarkable by virtue of how well they fit her willowy frame? Perhaps it's the crooked smile on her lips, or the challenge in her voice? Maybe it's simply that a moment ago, Hiroshi didn't know that he was sitting elbow to elbow with this woman, crowded in by the lunch rush, and now he has no awareness to spare for anyone or anything but her.

Her smile broadens. "I was annoyed, when you jostled me and spoiled my line. Then curious as to what had you so absorbed that you ignored my glare. I have a very impressive glare, and I hate to waste it. And then I find that you are drawing...a box. I am uncertain whether to be intrigued or disappointed."

Hiroshi quickly wipes his palm on his trouser leg. "It isn't a box, I assure you. It's a new design for a--"

"It's an automotive vehicle, presumably?"

Hiroshi blinks and adjusts his glasses. "I...yes. Yes, that's right. How did you know that I--"

She snorts. "Normally, you are to be found sketching engineering diagrams with an almost passable degree of skill. I am no expert, but if you have moved from drawing engines to boxes on wheels, well..."

"You've...watched me drawing before?"

She sighs. "All the openings I've given you, and that is what you ask. You like to sit at the counter. I like to sit at the counter. You like to focus inward, I like to watch people. People can be interesting, don't you think? But, perhaps not to you. Perhaps I should let you return to your boxes?"

Even through the sting of her repeated insults to his design, he feels alarm at the prospect that she might stop talking to him. He's used to people talking down to him, throughout his youth and his apprenticeship. He's used to people who feel threatened by his ideas trying to belittle him, to put him in the place he started from and keep him there. He's used to leaving those people behind him.

But this woman...no, _girl_! For all her confidence she can't be much older than Hiroshi. And she's...not putting him down, she's challenging him. And that's...interesting. She starts to turn away, and Hiroshi panics, his heart stuttering. "I, ah, I'm sorry! For jostling you. I spoiled your...line, did you say? And the ink, and...oh! You're an artist!"

"I am." She rewards him with a smile. "And I am a commercial illustrator. And...I am Yasuko."

She extends her ink-blotched hand, which Hiroshi is clever enough to grasp, horrified as he is by the claminess of his skin. "Hiroshi. Hiroshi Sato."

"Well, Hiroshi Sato! You have ruined my first sketch in my new sketchbook, see?" Yasuko holds up an incomplete portrait of Uncle Fong, who can be glimpsed through the service window working the grill. Even in the early stages, even with a small but distinct pen stroke spoiling Uncle Fong's cheekbone, the sketch is startlingly lifelike. Yasuko snaps the leatherbound notebook shut. "So! Tell me about your boxes!"

Hiroshi hesitates, because for once he finds he'd rather ask more about Yasuko than explain his vision for the future. But Yasuko is watching him, smirking, eyebrow raised, and he knows that he wants to impress this strange girl. He _needs_ to impress her, and the only impressive thing about him is his talent for engineering. So he explains everything to her, surprised and gratified that she doesn't interrupt once. She merely watches him intently with her green, green eyes, her chin resting on her delicate hand, her smirk softening into a smile.

When he's done laying out his vision, he realises that the lunch rush is ending and that he's almost out of time. He also realises that he has never felt so nervous, so _vulnerable_ in his life. He's pitched his designs to investors before, but he's always believed that it's a matter of when, not if, one or more of them will buy into his ideas. But what will he do if Yasuko doesn't? What will he do if she laughs and walks away? What will he do if she decides to eat her lunch at another diner?

He licks his very dry lips and coughs. "What...what do you think?"

"Hmm." Yasuko purses her lips. Hiroshi yanks his gaze from them, and tries not to think about how pink and full they are, how soft they look. "I think no one will buy your boxes."

Hiroshi flushes. Anger and shame and despair war inside him, but he clenches his teeth, refusing to let any weakness out. "I...see. Well, I fear I must return to the workshop. Good day--"

"Oh, I have listened to you all this time, but you will not listen to me for a minute? Patience, Hiroshi!" Yasuko rolls her eyes. She taps a finger against the back of his hand, which is a clenched fist on the countertop. The effect is astonishing. That simple contact stops him from leaving, makes him sink back into his stool, makes his fist open. "I am no expert, but your idea seems brilliant. And I can see that you have confidence in your ideas. That is good. But your boxes...who will buy a box?"

Hiroshi frowns. "It's only an initial sketch! And if you've seen any of the cargo haulers, then you'll know that--"

"They are boxes. Yes. Because that is a functional shape. But you are not selling people the dream of hauling their goods, you are selling them the dream of freedom! Better! You are _giving_ them freedom! Freedom does not look like a box, Hiroshi. Prison cells are boxes!"

"How...would you know what a prison cell looks like?"

"A good question! But also impertinent, so I must decline to answer." She flashes him a grin. "At this time."

Hiroshi finds himself grinning back, no longer caring about how late he might be going back to the workshop or whether his grin makes him look as foolish as he feels. Because he feels something else, something hot and urgent in his chest, singing through his blood, when Yasuko implies that there will be other times. Other times when she might even welcome him being impertinent.

Yasuko opens her sketchbook, takes up her pen, hums to herself for a moment, then applies pen to paper. "It must be safe, yes. But it must be sleek! It must have curves! I _have_ seen those cargo haulers, and have _you_ seen how they shudder and...and _wallow_ when the wind hits them? No one wants that. No one will buy that, and you want to sell this to everyone. No matter how brilliant the engine, there must be aesthetic appeal. Not many understand engines, Hiroshi, but beauty! We are all drawn to beauty."

He's torn between watching her sketch develop and watching her face, which becomes more animated, more excited as she speaks. "Yes," he whispers. "We are. I am..."

Yasuko shoots him a look, but she smiles at whatever she sees on his face, so he just smiles back. "Here. It is quick, and rough, and, ah, admittedly perhaps impractical, but it is a beginning."

Hiroshi stares at the sleek, teardrop shape on the page. In his mind's eye, he has always been able to visualise the mechanisms of his dream. He has never seen the final product, though, never seen the totality of his vision brought to life.

Until now.

He looks up at Yasuko, whose hands are in her lap, the knuckles of one hand gliding around in circles in the palm of the other. "It's wonderful, Yasuko. And...clever. You say you're not an expert in engineering, but you raise some interesting...I'd like to hire you."

It bursts out of him, and it's true. He would. It's also impossible, because he doesn't make that much at the workshop and he doesn't have an investor yet. But once the offer is out there, he clamps his mouth shut, unwilling to take it back.

Yasuko doesn't laugh, at least. She purses her lips, considering him. Very slowly, and very gently, she pokes a slim finger at the frayed hem of his jacket. "I think not. And I am afraid I must go."

He climbs off the stool, slow and clumsy and too warm in the face. "O-of course. I...thank you for...everything. I...will I see you again?"

Yasuko tucks her pen and her sketchbook into her bag. She looks at him and smirks. "Of course. You will buy me lunch tomorrow. And ask me all the questions about myself you should have asked today. I am, after all, quite fascinating. And in return, I will sketch your motorised vehicle. I will sketch you a dream that you can sell to everyone. Do we have a deal?"

Hiroshi nods quickly. "Y-yes! Yes, we do, Yasuko!"

"Good! Then I will see you tomorrow!"

She grins, places a hat at a jaunty angle on her head, and leaves the diner at a brisk walk.

Yasuko leaves Hiroshi there, carrying not one, but both of his dreams with her. Carrying, too, the promise of their return to him.

* * *

Asami watches Bolin flip through the pages, finding increasingly advanced designs of Satomobiles interspersed with vivid sketches of people's faces, rough layouts for advertising posters, and here and there notes on engineering in both her father's hand and Yasuko's. Asami finds the history of their courtship in those pages, and the foundation of Hiroshi's dreams, and she finds herself explaining all the things that her father told her about Yasuko to Bolin.

It gets easier, if not quite easy. Holding Pabu helps. Having Bolin there, smiling, laughing, turning the pages of her mother's sketchbook with care and respect, helps even more. For all the shock and the dismay she felt at discovering another of her father's lies, at discovering that there her pieces of her mother still in this world that he hid from her, there's an easing in her pain in reliving the beginnings of their love.

When the last page is turned, silence falls. After a long moment, Bolin fixes the clasp on the sketchbook and puts it on the table, beside the photo of Yasuko. He clicks his tongue, and Pabu squeaks before darting out of Asami's arms and into Bolin's pocket. Bolin stands up, so Asami does too, and pulls him into a hug.

He puts his arms around her and squeezes gently. "There are six more of those notebooks in there. I'd love to see them, if that'd be okay? And hear more about your mom? But I think you should get to look through them all first, yeah?"

Asami smiles into his shoulder. It's going to take her a long time to sort through her feelings, and longer still to sort through Yasuko's things, but she has a window into her mother's life that she never expected to have. "Thank you, Bolin."

Asami doesn't say anything else. Bolin understands.

When she shows Bolin out, she finds that the morning is gone and Korra is in the hall, leaning against the wall beside the open living room door. She smiles at them both, hugs Bolin, then slips into the living room. Asami says her goodbyes to Bolin and goes looking for Korra.

Asami feels oddly anxious, but she finds Korra leaning down to study Yasuko's photo, her hands clasped behind her back. Korra straightens up and smiles when Asami comes into the room. "Hey."

It's almost shocking how grateful Asami is that Korra hasn't touched her mother's things yet.

"Korra, I'm sorry. I didn't realise...were you there all that time?"

"A while, yeah."

"Oh. I...why didn't you...?"

Korra shakes her head. "You didn't need me in here. You or Bolin. I can empathise, but...but I just don't know what it's like."

Asami stares at her. Korra smiles sheepishly. Asami knows, in that moment, the inadequacy of words. She says them anyway. "I love you, Korra. I am so glad you...I...I need you. All the time, but today...today, I need you."

Korra comes to her, holds her, kisses her. "I'm here."

Asami is content to be held for a while, to feel Korra run her fingers through Asami's hair. When she feels ready, though, Asami pulls away. She takes one of Korra's hands in both of hers and leads her to the box. Asami takes a deep breath and says, "Korra? Would you...would you like to meet my mother?"

Korra takes a breath of her own. She smiles and cups a hand around Asami's cheek. "I'd be honoured."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, folks!
> 
> I'll see you in the comments, and/or on the next one.


End file.
